PC vs Mac

I have a Mac, so there

The Crazy Lady Speaks

pc

Remind me to never go back to that computer store—the people who work there ask difficult questions. The store clerk probably saw my dazed and confused look while I thumbed through something called CD’s for computers . . . or are they called discs? I don’t know. What’s the difference, anyway? They’re both round. But whatever it was I was looking at could do some very cool things using my computer—like make my own business cards, make my own cards, install (that’s a word I don’t understand, but have come to accept) new fonts and stuff like that. Cool.
While at the store, a clerk ran to me and asked, “Do you need some help?”

Me: “D’Oh?”

Clerk: “What do you mean?”

Me: “That means, how do I know if I need help? I don’t understand what I’m looking at.”

Clerk: “Well, first of all, do you have a PC…

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PC vs Mac

pc

Remind me to never go back to that computer store—the people who work there ask difficult questions. The store clerk probably saw my dazed and confused look while I thumbed through something called CD’s for computers . . . or are they called discs? I don’t know. What’s the difference, anyway? They’re both round. But whatever it was I was looking at could do some very cool things using my computer—like make my own business cards, make my own cards, install (that’s a word I don’t understand, but have come to accept) new fonts and stuff like that. Cool.
While at the store, a clerk ran to me and asked, “Do you need some help?”

Me: “D’Oh?”

Clerk: “What do you mean?”

Me: “That means, how do I know if I need help? I don’t understand what I’m looking at.”

Clerk: “Well, first of all, do you have a PC or a Mac?”

Me: “How the heck should I know? What is a PC?”

Clerk: “A PC is a personal computer.”

Me: “No. I don’t have a personal computer; it’s my son’s . . . but, he lets me use it.”

Clerk: “What kind of computer is it?”

Me: “Um, a computer.”

Clerk: “Yes—but what kind?”

Me: “I don’t know. It’s his.”

Clerk: “Is it an Apple?”

Me: “No. It’s a computer.”

Clerk: “I know it’s a computer, but is it made by Apple?”

Me: “How the heck should I know. I thought apples made applesauce.”

Clerk: “Are you pulling my leg?”

Me: “Does it look like I’m pulling your leg?”

Clerk: “I can’t tell.”

Me: “Well, you should know—it’s your leg.”

Clerk: (Heavy sigh) “What is it that you want?”

Me: “That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me. You’re the one who started talking about apples.”

Clerk: “Never mind the apples. What kind of computer do you use?”

Me: “One that’s at my house.”

Clerk: “What brand?”

Me: Blank stare.

Clerk: “What company made the computer?”

Me: “I don’t know. How do I tell?”

Clerk: “Your computer should say who the maker is.” She thinks for a moment, then says, “Is there an engraving of an apple that has a bite taken out of it on your monitor?”

Me: “What’s a monitor?”

Clerk: “You’re joking, right?”

Me: “No.”

Clerk: “It’s the screen . . . the television looking part of your computer—does it have an image of a apple?”

Me: “No.”

Clerk: “Then you have a PC.”

Me: “What’s a PC?”

Clerk: “A personal computer.”

Me: “I know that. Geez. It’s at my house. I just need to know which one of these I should buy.” (I was holding identical boxes, only one said, “For your PC,” and the other said, “For a Mac”).

Clerk: “You want to buy the one that says, PC.”

Me: “Well, what is a Mac? And why isn’t it a PC?”

Clerk: “Will this be all for your today?” She says this as she leads me to the counter.

Me: “I guess so.”

Clerk: “Thank goodness. That’ll be $52.00.”

Me: “Fifty-two dollars! For a dumb round little disc?”

Clerk: “Yes. That’s how much they cost.”

Me: “Well, never mind then. I don’t want it. Would you like me to return it to the shelf?”

The clerk shouted, “NO!” I’ll do it.”

As she shoved me out the door, she mumbled, “Thanks for coming in.”

I don’t know what the heck happened in that computer store, but I’m never going back there again. The salesclerks have no idea what they’re doing—when I got home, I discovered an image of an apple on my computer—I have a Mac, so there.

Larae Parry: April Author Interview Participant #7

Lookie what I finded

International Book Promotion

LaRae’s Short Bio

I was born with a loose screw. No kidding, I was. It has gotten me into trouble and out of trouble, so I can’t complain about being a little daft.

I was also born with an umbilical urge to write, or to tell stories I made up on the spot. That got me into a lot of trouble, and out of trouble, so, I can’t complain. 🙂

In 1991, I became a VERY famous artist. (wink, wink). I drew, painted, and wrote painting instructions for a publisher. I had 13 painting books published-which is weird, because I never considered myself an artist. I was a faux artist, I guess.

In 2005, a simple medical procedure went terribly wrong and landed me in the ICU on life-support because of respiratory and multiple organ failure. Even though I beat the odds and survived, the doctor told me that my…

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Worst Sponge Bath Ever

Living while Dying

sponge     Worst Sponge Bath Ever

With a goofy smile on his face, the young orderly began washing me with his cleaning supplies. What I wanted to know was this: How come a female nurse was washing my legs and feet? How come he didn’t get the lower half? Did he volunteer for the upper half, is he a pervert? Is he crazy? If he did volunteer, how come he’s not locked up in the loony bin?

To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have volunteered to clean my upper part, surely wouldn’t. Did the cleaning crew draw straws and he got the short one? All I know is neither one of us was very happy when he slipped off my dirty hospital gown.

My stomach was his first casualty. As the orderly scrubbed my entire mid-section, he worked his way up to my chest, where things got way…

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It’s a Miracle

Doc couldn’t do anything about my brain. That was sad.

Living while Dying

miracle

Not long after I recognized my room was filled to the brim with unseen angels, one of the nurses said, “You’ve broken your fever. Did you know you had a fever?”

Me: Excuse me. I have a big thing down my throat. I can’t answer right now . . . and NO I did not know I had a fever.

Nurse: “Your temperature was 106°. We can’t believe it’s gone down so fast. It’s almost like a miracle—no one’s fever goes from 106° to normal in the space of a few minutes.”

Me: Are you talking to me? You do realize I can’t respond, don’t you? I’m all tied up at the moment. Oh, and I’m not surprised about the temperature thing.

Nurse: “Your blood pressure is even coming back up. It was 70/50 . . . close to death. I’ve had patients who have died with better blood pressures.”

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